


Sing into My Mouth

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Facials, Grooming & Bathing, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, Homecoming, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Multi, OT3, Oral Sex, Pegging, Porn with Feelings, Post-TRoS, Sweet Femdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:41:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22912639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Poe returns from a mission unkempt and hairy. Rey and Finn make the most of the beard and curls before cleaning him up.Also, the Force is a perv.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn/Rey
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54





	Sing into My Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> title from "[This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pVrVY540xdc)"; they've made a home together, whatever it looks like from the outside.

When Poe's light freighter touches down, curfew has long since fallen. The base is quiet, shut up tight for the long lunar night. Just past the headlands against which the base snuggles, the sea rolls full, scrolled with pale foam.

In their shared quarters, Rey and Finn are grappling, moaning, caught up in both pleasure and the currents of the Force. Bent over the tool cart that Poe inexplicably uses for clothes storage, Finn has one leg up, knee hitting the wall while Rey, wreathed in light, fucks him deep and rough. Her harness creaks with the exertion. He starts coming, shooting in jagged bursts, the cart rattling under him, as Poe's ship hits the tarmac. Rey clutches at Finn's waist and grinds up into him, her mouth on the edge of his shoulder blade, and rides out the shudders and ripples of his orgasm as they pass through her. Her breasts, plastered against him, ache with each breath, her nipples twanging.

They fuck like exercise, like laughing, screw and spar and devour meals together.

They're still sweaty and sleepy-silly when Poe lets himself in. Lying on his side on the broad sleeper, Finn lifts his head to greet him, while Rey, cross-legged at the corner, continues unplaiting her hair and finger-combing it.

"I'm home -- shit, do you want privacy?" Poe stops short at the threshold. He looks much the worse for wear, bags under his eyes, hair and beard overgrown, clothes torn, and yet as he takes in the sight of them, his expression shifts from "tired but happy" all the way to "gleefully hopeful".

"Get in here," Finn says and Rey pats the platform next to her.

Poe shrugs off his jacket as he complies. He tries to kick off his boots as he speaks, but has to lean over to untie them. "I was heading to debrief when it occurred to me that, hey, wait just a minute, I'm partly in charge, I can debrief my own self. Or put it off. So here I am. Hey. Missed you."

Rey nudges the Force a little toward Poe to steady him as he overbalances, pulling off first one boot, then another.

"Thanks," he says, straightening up, hands on his hips. "Did I miss all the fun?"

"Depends," Finn tells him. Smiling, Rey shakes her head.

"Depends on what? Because, man. That felt like fourteen missions in one and I deserve about six different medals and commendations --"

"We don't give those," Rey says quietly.

"Exactly! Damn our demilitarized principles, what the hell were we thinking?" He peels off a heavy woolen shirt and tosses it aside. "In their absence, maybe I could get, I don't know, a nice 'welcome back, good job, missed you'?"

"Depends," Finn says again, grinning as Poe starts to look outraged. "How did the mission go?"

"Are you debriefing me?"

Finn nods. "I'm debriefing you."

"Good news is, the Bothersome hyperlane's cleared of exogorths, privateers, and slavers, and they're going to fast-track supply runs and refugee settlements on the three inner moons."

"Brothfermill," Finn says. "The Brothfermill hyperlane."

"Exactly, yes." Poe cocks his head and rubs his chin, nails scritching through beard. "You two look.... _Sure_ I'm not interrupting?"

"Sure," Rey replies. "I'm sure, anyway."

"Oh, I'm sure," Finn says. Loose and warm from sex, relieved about Poe's return, sleepy in a genuine way he rarely gets to feel these days, he rubs his face and keeps smiling.

"So why the smirk, buddy?"

"Am I smirking?" Finn stretches, taking his time, wiggling his fingers and toes, really luxuriating in it. "I didn't know."

"You are definitely smirking, yes."

Rey unhooks her harness, then peels the hygiene skin off the shaft. Poe gets distracted by the sight of the shaft and has to work his lips together as he reminds himself to focus.

"What's the bad news?" she asks.

"What's that?" Poe drags his attention reluctantly away from the shaft.

"You said 'good news is', so that means there's also bad news you're about to tell us."

"Oh, no, there really isn't. It's all good news. Other than a reactor blowout, you know, no big, everyone's fine."

"A _what_?" Rey's expression sharpens instantly.

Poe doesn't meet her eyes as he waves his hand vaguely. "Little bitty blowout, barely even noticed it, it'll be patched up soon, anyway, I should get going, so sleepy."

"This is your room." Finn snorts and tugs Poe back with a thin tendril of Force. Laughing, protesting weakly _our room!_ , Poe struggles to sit up.

When he catches his breath, he realizes Rey is staring at him. 

"Nice beard," Rey says.

Poe bobs his head. "Thanks. Feeling a little wild, a little dangerous. I think it makes me rakish. Maybe even irascible, but who knows?"

She stows her harness and shaft back in her bag before sitting next to him. She tilts her head, blows the hair out of her eyes, and takes him in. She's sitting closely enough that when she inhales, her bare breasts lift and her shoulder touches Poe's. "A little unkempt."

"Very unkempt," Finn puts in. "Hair, too."

Quiet sparks into life among them then, something intent and crystalline. Poe stretches out his neck before shaking back his hair and stroking his beard. He's all but preening, definitely displaying himself, as his fingernails drag through thick beard down to the base of his exposed throat.

They like his hair. They all know this. Much as he and Rey both love Finn's ass, as he and Finn love her strength, as they all love second helpings of food and a chance to sleep late, there are some facts that are so self-evident they do not require articulation.

Rey pushes her hand through Poe's hair, just over his ear, and he tips into the touch, fluttering his eyelashes at her. Behind them, Finn hauls himself upright to get a better look. 

"Cutting it pretty close," Finn says. Rey leans back to give him room, and Finn hugs Poe with one arm, kissing his cheek before drawing back so Poe can finish getting undressed. "The Dreeluvians arrive after dawn."

Poe freezes, undershirt pulled halfway over his head. "Oh, _shit_."

"Yeah."

"I look like a fucking wild man! Like some deep-forest hedge Sith back home!"

Rey shoves him lightly. "But you just said --"

"That was before I was seeing myself through their eyes." Poe twists the shirt in his hands. "Eyestalks? Visual receptors."

"So," Finn says, and he's speaking slowly, savoring each word every bit as much as the intent expectation on both their faces, "sounds like we need to make the most of the wild man look?"

He takes the shirt from Poe's hands and tosses it aside.

"Sounds like it, yes, absolutely. That sounds like the sort of plan I can get behind." Poe tries to stop talking, fails, and only quiets when Finn kisses him long and deep.

"Now," Rey says and stands up. She faces them, a slender figure, arms at her sides. She looks relaxed, no tension evident anywhere, and she sounds calm, and they both feel heat crackling through them, spun and wielded by her. She could snap her fingers right now and they'd probably come.

"Down," Finn tells Poe, his voice hoarse. Silently, he checks with Rey. When she nods, and her Force-signature brightens and widens, Finn pushes Poe's shoulder.

He kneels easily, sinks down and looks up like he can't imagine being anywhere else. Finn lowers himself between Poe and the platform. He rests his hand on Poe's nape. Rey gets her hands deep into the riot of Poe's hair, too, twists it up in her fingers, and pulls back his head to a better angle. His upturned face is slack, open mouth amid the tangle of his beard, eyes nearly closed under heavy lids, but he's panting, his tongue starting to show. Finn's fingers find her own and lace together.

They yank, a short, harsh tug, so Poe will beg. And when he does - _fuck, let me taste you, please, gotta make you come_ \- she slams her hips forward and gives him what he wants. Finn holds him in place as Poe's mouth molds to her cunt, tongue at hole, then clit. She steers with both hands in his hair and rubs herself against the now silky, then bristly, texture of his beard. The Force weaves dizzily around the three of them, tying them yet closer. Finn gets hard again, a little painfully, and uses the Force to tie himself and Poe off, keep them hard and hoping for the duration.

Rey is a quiet lover, just as she's a silent fighter. Everything she says, she says with grace and power, in movement rather than sound, the throb of her clit against Poe's lips, the squelch of her hole taking in his tongue. She's been soaked for hours. Poe's mouth overruns with her slick and his own spit. 

When she releases him, she vaults past them onto the platform. His hair is lank with sweat, his beard matted. Her fingers thrum with the sudden absence of tension; they graze her mound and tickle her swollen, throbbing clit. He watches her and licks his lips. Finn pulls Poe's head this way and that, his mouth against Poe's beard, tasting and smelling and getting it yet wetter. He sucks a lock up off Poe's cheek and pulls at it with his teeth, shakes Poe, gets him to arch his back and fall open, offering himself all over again.

"Up," she tells them and they scramble off the floor and fall together onto the platform.

Finn straddles Poe's chest, pushes him up to Rey's lap, and rubs the head of his dick all over Poe's face, beard and forehead, nose and mouth. Poe tries to chase with his tongue, but Rey holds him still with her free hand. Against her own fingers, she comes, several times, a series of tilting clutches from the base of her hole, watching Finn fuck into Poe's mouth. She exhales noisily, and both sets of eyes turn toward her to see the joy wash over her face and down her flushed chest.

She releases Poe and rolls to her side, lazily watching while Finn pushes harder and deeper, grunting, and Poe grasps Finn's hips like he's holding on for dear life.

"Do it," she says, flicking her clit with her thumb nail one last time to eke out a sharp, jagged orgasm. She gives them permission, but she commands, too.

Finn's body locks for a moment before he starts pumping, first into Poe's mouth, then over his cheek and chin.

Poe's own hips cant and he half-screams, half-whines, as he comes, too, into the blaze of the Force, untouched and desperate. Finn slides down, their sweaty skin adhering, then pulling apart loudly, to kiss Poe shallowly. Poe is splattered and soaked, come and sweat and everything else sparkling in his loose curls and fucked-flat beard. 

"Excellent foreplay," he says when he recovers his voice. "Really strong start to the night's fun."

Finn has shifted off him and lies wedged between Rey and Poe. "Hilarious. Funny, funny man."

"No joke," Poe protests. "Completely honest and sincere here. Why would I joke about such a sacred activity?"

"Because," Rey says, sitting up, leaning back on one hand, "you joke about everything."

"Fair enough," Poe says. "I should probably watch that."

"Way too late for that." Finn pushes at Poe's hip. "Time to bathe, man. You _stink_."

"You're no dawn blossom!" Poe jabs him. "No one here is! Let he or she who is without stink draw first lather!"

Rey is on her feet already and pushing aside the half-curtain to the refresher. 

As much as they have all, individually and together, tried not to pull (resigned, now obsolete) rank, they did claim this warren of rooms in large part because it had an old industrial washer-cube. Originally for the fleeces and textiles processed in this facility, the cube is deep enough to cover a sitting figure and wide enough for four people abreast. Sometimes Rey takes another bath later in the day _just because she can_. Water can't be wasted here; there's far too much of it for that. This makes her feel wonderfully decadent.

She fills the cube halfway and sinks down into the steaming water. Finn and Poe join her eventually, making too much noise and splashing a lot, but it's late, and even they have to get tired sometime. 

Poe tells them a little about the worse parts of the mission, particularly fetal exogorths and thirty indentured slug miners whose employers disagreed with anything close to the concepts of "liberation" and "fair pay". Propped up between them, he is heavy-limbed and smiling dopily when he eventually trails off. He doesn't have to spell out just how close he came to dying, again. Each of them keeps missing it. Each return to base is an exercise in miracle-making.

His wet hair is starting to frizz, while his long beard is twisting into serpentine knots.

Finn meets Rey's gaze. They do this, agree in the Force, decide something, without consciously thinking anything, let alone speaking.

"Spooky," Poe murmurs. "Freaky hot twins, let me have it."

They lather up his hair and sponge clean his pubes. His beard goes white in the soap, then rinses silver and black. Poe floats between them, eyes closed, hair drifting around his skull. They put him back together one lock at a time, with fingertips and several brushes, until he is again presentable, scrubbed and fragrant. They trim his beard down, holding short fringes pinched to shear off. Together, they comb him out, scoop warm water with their hands to rinse him clean, again and again. 

Rey heads to her own room to sleep and Finn and Poe stumble back to the bigger main room. The Dreeluvians' arrival is imminent.

The skin between her thighs is burned raw for nearly a day, just like Finn's cheeks and chin. The ghost of Poe's hair clings in their discomfort, and it's memory and promise both.


End file.
